


Slippery Slope

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Late at Night, Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Porn with Feelings, Prison, Season/Series 04, Secret Relationship, Shower Sex, Slight Femdom, Sneaking Around, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 08:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10330247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: Maggie's had a long day full of sweat and walker guts, and all she wants is to take a nice relaxing shower before falling into bed with Glenn. In this new world, though, there isn't much you can count on, and walking in on her baby sister having sex with Daryl Dixon wasdefinitelynot part of the plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You'll probably recognize this as similar to the Maggie-discovery scene in "18 Miles Out" by MonDieu666. And, yeah, it sort of is. There is absolutely no plagiarism meant and hopefully they're different enough that this little fic can stand on its own.
> 
> I hope to do another chapter from Beth or Daryl's POV. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on that :)

Maggie hurries down the hallway as fast as she can, skipping a little bit to keep her feet off the cold cement floor. It is, ironically, one of the only true inconveniences of living in a prison. Or at least one of the last things that she and Glenn still complain about to each other.

They don't complain to the group. Not ever, not about something like this. After everything they've gone through...

Lori died on this cold cement.

Maggie shakes her head, firmly shoving grim thoughts to the back of her mind. Today was a good day—her arms feel about ready to fall off, but between sunrise and sunset the fence crew cleared at least half of the walker herd snapping at their gates. That doesn't mean there won't be more tomorrow, or the day after, but... No. Today was good.

And now Maggie's scurrying to the shower to scrub off the grime and walker guts that managed to soak through her clothes. The prison showers aren't ideal; there are no curtains on the stalls, for one, and more than once Maggie's gotten an eyeful that she never, ever wants to see again. But it's easier than the men and women taking hasty turns in a frigid stream, and here the water is almost always lukewarm, sometimes even steamy when the day is hot enough. And although Maggie grew up on a farm and was far less concerned than her sister about getting herself dirty, in this world it's just nice to be clean; hell, it's a damn luxury.

Maggie's thoughts are so deeply turned to the anticipated sensations—water sluicing down her naked body, the easy glide of soap, the heavenly artificial scents of shampoo—that it takes her a few steps into the showers to hear it. It takes her a few steps more to realize she's not alone.

She recognizes the sound the moment it registers—a steady clap like a hand slapping a pig skin, deep groans and breathy moans rising to accompany it.

Sex. Someone is having sex.

Maggie freezes where she is, hand clapped over her mouth so she doesn't give herself away. It's not like she thought she and Glenn were the only people in the whole prison who have sex; the only ones on their cellblock, maybe, and she's knows she'd know if anyone else had paired off because even when she and Glenn are as quiet as possible they still get dirty looks in the morning—so it could be two of the Woodbury folk, people she doesn't even know.

Or maybe one of their group's been stepping out. Maybe someone has a fuck-buddy and doesn't want the rest of them to know about it.

It's this thought that stops Maggie from fleeing straight away, and she feels a bit of her old daring bubbling up: The foolish childhood urges that sent her into the night with boys, that brought her and Glenn to a pharmacy floor. Daddy has always called it “gumption,” the same word whether it's accompanied by a chuckle or an exasperated shake of the head. She knows it's one of the qualities that has kept her alive this long, the willingness or even the desire to charge head-first into danger, and the rush of adrenaline it brings her now propels her forward on silent feet.

Maggie thinks about what Beth would do in a situation like this, and if she weren't trying to be stealthy she would laugh out loud. Beth's grown up a lot since they left the farm—they all have, even the grown-ups—but for all that she's brave enough to stab a walker through the fence, anything sexual would have her running for the hills. Maggie understands the reticence Beth displayed with Jimmy, God rest his soul. Beth has always been a daddy's girl, and the thought of having sex beneath her father's roof probably scared poor Beth more than doing it in a church would. And besides, they had enough to think about back then.

But even now in the relative freedom of the prison, Beth doesn’t seem inclined to give sex a try at all. Since they found out Maggie was married, Beth's had all the Woodbury boys of a certain age snapping at her heels. Maggie watched closely to make sure none of the boys got fresh, and so did the rest of their family; she'd seen Daryl on several occasions standing steely-eyed near the entrance to the mess hall, staring down the gaggle of boys gathered around Beth as she, quite oblivious, fed Judith small spoonfuls of porridge.

Maggie was glad when she saw Beth and Zach growing closer together; out of all of the boys he's the one Maggie would have chosen for her sister. Maggie knows they're more than friends. She caught them kissing in the library several weeks ago, sitting side by side on the ratty sofa beneath the window, pressing their lips together in a way that would make John Hughes's heart melt. But Maggie's never seen a sign of anything else. If it were her (and if not for Glenn, if probably _would_ be her) she would have gotten him on his back in the first secluded spot they could find. But not Beth. Even when kissing, Beth keeps a studious distance between them, and as the weeks have gone on Maggie hasn't seen them in any more intimate positions.

It's frustrating even as it is a relief, Maggie thinks as she inches forward, moans growing louder with every step. It's not like Maggie _wants_ her baby sister running around letting boys touch her. Maggie wasn't a virgin at Beth's age but sometimes she wishes she had been; had waited a little longer, avoided a bit of heartbreak. But at the same time, Maggie just wants Beth to _grow up_ —to stop being Daddy's little princess and get on with it already before there aren't any boys left for her to do it with.

Maggie shakes her head, imagining the horror in Beth's face were she faced with a similar situation as Maggie is now, before pushing her little sister firmly to the back of her mind. She's gonna see who this is. Unless it's someone like Rick or Carol, who she respects enough to deal with in the morning, give them a proper dressing down for it, too. It could have been anyone walking into these showers, after all. Lizzie or Mika or god, what if it was _Beth_... it wouldn't be appropriate at all...

Maggie finally comes to the corner of the stall the sounds are coming from. The water from the shower beats a steady rhythm to the couple's ragged pace—wasting water, that's another problem with all this, what are they thinking–

It takes Maggie's eyes a few seconds to focus through the stream of water and the slight mist it gives off, and a then a few moments of wondering whether she should pinch herself to see if she's dreaming all this. She was picturing Rick or Tyreese, maybe someone from Woodbury she doesn't know that well. But this...

Daddy told her about the scars. Not in so many words, but when the man was recovering from his tumble in the woods Dad made sure to take Maggie and Beth aside and let them know to always knock before going in his room, to bring him a t-shirt along with a towel when he might want to shower. It reminded Maggie of the pains Dad took when they were younger to hide himself, to shield them from what they were too young to understand. Maggie's seen her dad's back a few times in the years since, when he changed quickly out of a dress shirt to help birth a litter of kittens or grew too hot on a summer's day. She's seen them, but they were nothing like this...

Raw red lightning strikes across skin tanned only through fabric. Lines that don't end at his hips but go down, wrapping round his thighs and buttocks like snakes. Nothing to hide them but a slim set of legs–

Moments after Maggie's gasp rips out she realizes that it coincided with a deep groan from Daryl's belly, that she didn’t just give herself away. But it doesn't matter to her state of mind. She feels lightheaded as she looks from the pale calves wrapped around his hips to the equally pale arms clutching his neck and ribs, fingers digging into his skin like they want to leave scars of their own, the cascade of dripping blonde hair tumbling over his shoulder that jerks up and hits the wall behind with a smack, the flushed face it reveals, arched towards the ceiling–

Maggie wants to wash her eyes out with acid. Who cares if she'll never see again. If she can get this image out of her mind...

Beth, her baby sister Beth, clinging to Daryl Dixon for dear life as he plows into her, making up with enthusiasm what he lacks in finesse. Because, in the calm, rational corner of Maggie's mind (the only bit that's still functioning), she notes that Daryl doesn't seem very practiced at this at all—his thrusts are unbalanced, out of rhythm, feet constantly scrambling to find better purchase.

She never would have expected Daryl to be good at sex, not that she ever thought about it. He's the only man outside her blood family she's ever known who hasn't once spoken to her tits instead of her face. She remembers in their winter on the run that she always felt most secure when Daryl kept lookout over the women when they bathed. Not just because he's they're best fighter, which is true, but because it never embarrassed her. When a loud noise made him glance toward them she never thought to cover up; he just didn't seem to see women that way. Men either, from what Maggie's observed and Glenn's told her, but now...

Maggie can't see his eyes from where she stands but she sees Beth's; hears Daryl mumble something that brings Beth's head down, locks her gaze with him, makes her face fall into something Maggie doesn't recognize. Like a million thoughts are scrambling through Beth's head and a thousand words upon her tongue but she doesn't need to voice them, not a single one, because the way Daryl must be looking at her...

Beth's eyes squeeze shut and she bites her lower lip before groaning, _loud_ , louder than Daryl had been; she ducks her head again to mouth at his neck and suddenly his hand is on her shoulder, pushing her back hard. She cries out in muffled pain when her head bangs back against the wall, and Maggie is halfway to stepping forward and ending this when Daryl ducks his head too; brings his hands down and must grab Beth by the ass because suddenly she's hoisted up even higher, legs clinging to his slippery skin desperately as he raises one hand and cups her breast, pushing it in line with his mouth–

Maggie turns around but not fast enough to escape the sound of suckling, Beth's keen that fills the entire shower block. Maggie walks back towards the door, forgets about being quiet and lets her feet slap against the cement, but the sounds still chase her—they're saying each other's names now, throaty and helpless and God please help her get out of here before she has to hear her baby sister have an orgasm–

She closes the heavy door just as those noises begin to climb, stopping just short of slamming it but collapsing against it nonetheless.

She can't hear a thing through the door. The prison is silent again. You would never guess that Beth... that Beth and Daryl...

Maggie pushes herself off the door and walks down the hall. Barely keeps herself from breaking into a jog. She's sure that if she went any faster she would trip.

Glenn is asleep when she enters their cell but she can sense him rousing as she flings her clothes off, too rattled to bother being quiet. In moments she's stripped to the skin and is sliding into bed, Glenn's arm settling sleepily around her waist.

“Thought you were gonna shower,” he mumbles, still half asleep. Maggie realizes that she must smell awful, but the thought is fleeting; even the concept of running back to the shower block for a bar of soap is–

“Maggie?” Glenn's fully awake now and Maggie can't find it in herself to feel bad about it. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“I... no, everything's...”

He puts his hand between her breasts and she feels it: her heart pounding like she'd just outrun a herd of walkers, breath coming in short little gasps.

“Daryl is having sex with my sister,” she blurts. There's a pregnant pause. “They were in the shower, and she's... I always thought she was a virgin or at least, you know, _inexperienced_ , but it was like they'd been doing this forever and... what is she doing with _Daryl_? She's supposed to be with Zach–”

“You didn't know?”

Maggie freezes, then turns very slowly in Glenn's arms. He shrinks away from her a little and she knows she must look at least a little terrifying.

“Didn't. Know. What?”

“That... Maggie, they've been together for like a month. At least. I saw them kissing around the back of the prison and Beth said she'd told you already and you were fine with it...“ Glenn trails off, then frowns. “Son of a bitch. They still don't think I can keep a secret.”

“How did _they_ keep it a secret?” Maggie asks. “I would have noticed something... Glenn, she's my _sister_ , I must have noticed–“

“Shh!”

Maggie's mouth clamps shut and she hears what Glenn heard—the quiet padding of a pair of feet and the occasional sound of a boot landing, growing closer. Maggie tightens her fingers around Glenn's arm.

“–get some stuff for her to chew on that'd be great. My book says she should be teething soon and...”

A pause; then, rumbled, “And what, Greene?”

The cellblock goes silent, and Maggie realizes that they've come to a stop near hers and Glenn's cell. Maggie meets Glenn's wide-eyed stare with one of her own. His heart is pounding now too.

“And...” Beth says, stretching out the word. “I can't leave her alone at night if she's gonna be screaming her head off.”

“Why the hell'd you leave L'il Asskicker in the middle of the night anyhow?”

Beth giggles, and Maggie's stomach plummets. She knows that giggle. It's what Beth sounded like after they watched _Magic Mike_ together and Maggie was trying to get her to say which guy was her favorite.

“Dunno,” Beth says, voice lower than Maggie's ever heard it. “Maybe I wanna hold onto something other than a baby sometimes.”

Daryl grunts, a deep breath whooshing up his nose.

“Don't start something you can't finish, girl.”

“From the feel of things I could finish you off pretty darn quick right now.”

 _Oh my god,_ Glenn mouths. Maggie can't move.

“You're fuckin' greedy.”

“You love it.”

The sound of kissing filters through their privacy curtain and Maggie shuts her eyes tight as if doing so could shut her ears as well.

Thankfully, it doesn't last long.

“Need to get some sleep. Got guard duty in a few hours.”

“I'll join you.”

“I need to pay attention–“

“I won't distract you! I'll bring a book or something. It'll be like a sleepover.”

Daryl snorts, and Maggie hears their footsteps start up again. “Never went on a sleepover in my life.”

“Maybe it's time you start...”

Their voices fade away and Maggie opens her eyes, sees Glenn blinking owlishly in the gloom.

“You seriously never noticed?” he whispers. Maggie shakes her head slowly. Glenn settles back into the pillow, looking contemplative. “I mean, it makes some sense, right? They both love Judith and they're quiet people... plus, Daryl has an _amazing_ penis–“

“What?” Maggie squeaks.

“I'm just saying!” Glenn says. “I've only seen it once or twice but it's pretty awesome... if, I mean. If you're, you know. Into. That.”

Maggie buries her face in the pillow. “I can't believe this.”

“Can't one dude look at another dude's junk without it being–“

Maggie whips her head out of the pillow. “I don't want to think about Daryl Dixon's _junk_!” she whisper-screams.

Glenn looks, at least, somewhat contrite. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He pats Maggie's arm awkwardly. “Try to look on the bright side, maybe? If Daryl's showering more often he won't stink up the mess hall anymore.”

Maggie presses her face into Glenn's chest. “Babe... I love you, but stop talking.”

“Ok,” Glenn says.

Maggie listens to Glenn's soft breathing. His arms circle Maggie tentatively, and she heaves out a heavy sigh.

“But she's... she's a _baby_ , you know? Just yesterday Dad was showing me how to change her diaper, and now she's... riding Daryl Dixon's amazing penis!”

“... can I talk now?”

Maggie sighs and brings her head back up to the pillow, meeting Glenn's gaze.

“Yes, babe, go ahead.”

“Ok.” Glenn shifts around, avoiding her eyes for a few moments. She knows he's thinking. “When... when things were like they were before, who did you want Beth to end up with? What kind of person?”

Maggie frowns. “I dunno. Someone with money he earned himself, or at least some land he's willing to work. Nice. Makes her smile.”

“So... someone she likes, who can provide for her and protect her, right?”

“Yeah.” Maggie squints at Glenn. “What's your point?”

“I mean... can't Daryl do that too?” Maggie is silent, waiting for Glenn to continue. “I mean, come on, if anyone's gonna survive all this it's gonna be him. He can fight and hunt his own food. And he never leaves the people he cares about behind, right? Ever.”

Maggie thinks about the drama with Merle, how even with allegiances of blood to contend with, Daryl came back to them. She thinks about all the things that have tried to kill him—kill _all_ of them—that would have succeeded if not for his strength and stubbornness. And his love. Yeah, he's rough, but he loves all of them. Maggie has no doubts about that.

And if he's done all he's done for people he considers family... what would he do for someone who was _his_?

Maggie's frown morphs into a glare, and she blows out an exasperated breath.

“Fine,” she grumbles.

“Uh... fine, what?”

“ _Fine_ , I get what you're saying. He's old and rude and has no business having sex with my little sister... but... she could do worse.”

A relieved smile slips onto Glenn's face, and Maggie is struck for a moment by how beautiful he is.

“Right. So it's not a disaster. It's just your little sister growing up.”

Maggie puts her hand on Glenn's cheek. She sees the far away look in his eyes and knows he's thinking about his own sister. If she made it. If by some miracle he's ever going to be able to see her again.

 _I'm lucky,_ Maggie thinks. And Beth's lucky too.

“Ok,” she says.

“Ok, what?”

“Ok, I won't castrate him.” She pauses, playing with the edges of Glenn's hair. “They have to get their own condoms though. I'm not sharing any of ours.”

Glenn grins and kisses her, and she kisses back; deep, slow, loving. Everything she's ever wanted from a man, everything she thought for sure the end of the world would stop her from finding.

But it didn't stop her. It brought her him. And maybe for Beth it's the same.

Maggie pulls back from the kiss, stroking Glenn's hair one more time before rolling over, snuggling his hand between her breasts. He fits right up behind her; half-hard, as she expected, but clearly not in the mood to do anything about it. He knows she'll take care of him in the morning.

“Good night, baby,” Maggie murmurs.

“Good night, Mags.”

Maggie closes her eyes, thinking back a few days ago so her mind doesn't dwell on the images seared into her brain from tonight. Remembers Beth standing by her cell, bouncing a crying Judith up and down, trying to soothe her. Maggie'd been about to approach her when Daryl strode into view. Maggie didn't pay attention to it at the time, but Beth smiled at him; flushed a little under her eyes as he leaned in close, brushing his bare arms across hers as he took the baby. How they stood with their heads close together as Judith calmed down, Beth tickling the tufts of hair on her head while Daryl held her. It hadn't struck Maggie as odd at all. Daryl is rarely a person for casual touch, but heaven knows he loves that little girl.

 _If he loves Beth half as much,_ Maggie thinks as she drifts to sleep, _maybe Glenn's right. M_ _aybe it's not such a bad thing after all._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The encounter in the showers that Maggie walks in on, through Beth's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write shower sex and shower sex I wrote.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Beth feels more than a little giddy as she hurries down the passageway into the bowels of the prison, carrying nothing but her knife and the clothes on her back. If they could, that is, in good consciousness be called clothes. On hot humid nights she's used to going to bed in outfits like this: a thin cotton tank-top and men's boxers, a few sizes smaller than a man her size would wear. She's never worn this kind of thing in a public space without a robe to cover it, but she had been so preoccupied debating whether to leave her cell at all that she was out of the cellblock before she remembered how little she had on.

She puts her arms around herself, shivering a little as the cold concrete leeches the warmth from her body. In the cellblock, even with the windows propped open, it's steamy as a sauna, but the heat has refused to penetrate this deeply into the building.

Beth looks down at herself in the dim hallway lighting. Her breasts are so small that sleeping in a bra has always seemed a silly notion, but the cold has lifted her nipples up and twisted them, forming marked peaks beneath the fabric of her shirt. The sight once would have embarrassed her, but now it excites her down to her very core. She lifts her folded arms from cradling her belly to forming a shelf just beneath her breasts, pushing the small mounds up. She likes the weight on her forearms, as meager as it may be, and she likes how the movement presses her nipples into the cotton. Even in the paltry light she can see the darkening where they push against the thin fabric, the pressure sending sparks up and down her spine. She wants so badly to twist one of her nipples, relieve the ache there, but she forces herself to wait. Knows that it will feel better the longer she does.

Even though this part of the prison is ostensibly cleared, she knows it's stupid to focus so intently on her own body as she moves through the dark, so she forces her head up and eyes ahead, adjusts the grip on her knife. It _was_ his knife, but they're the only ones who know that. Michonne is the only other person in the prison sharp enough to potentially notice, but Beth doubts she would give much thought to that information. And even if she did—even if she figured it all out—she's not the kind of person to pry into others' personal lives. She would leave well enough alone.

Beth rounds the corner and slows to a stop, gazing at the heavy door before her. It's the same color as the walls, but the sigil in the center of it she can see clearly enough: a triangle in faded white paint, dots spreading out from its base like a fan.

The showers.

Beth bites her lip. If anyone else is in here this is a very, very dumb idea. But she's been listening closely for hours, lying in her bunk with a hand pressed halfway down her shorts to keep herself alert, remind her what she's doing. How stupid it is, and reckless in about a hundred different ways, and how she doesn't even know if he'll _welcome_ it–

But Daryl's been at the fence all day, and no matter his high level of tolerance for his own grime, they've gotten used to being somewhat clean here. When she saw him scowling and running his fingers through hair speckled with guts and gore, she knew he'd go to the shower block at some point. Wait until everyone was asleep so he'd be sure to be alone. Beth waited a few minutes after he'd gone in case someone else had the same idea. But after his whisper-quiet steps passed her door, Beth didn't hear a single sound in the cellblock. She bent over Judith, sent a ridiculous prayer to God that the little girl would sleep until she got back, and headed off after him, remembering her knife and nothing else.

Her skin thrums with anticipation and nerves as she approaches the door, consciously reminding herself to breathe so she doesn't pass out before she even leaves the hallway. They've been doing this for a few weeks— _having sex_ for a few weeks—but it's always been hurried trysts in the guard tower, stolen kisses in hidden corners. Glenn catching them making out against the back wall of the prison scared Daryl away for a few days, but the next time Beth joined him in the tower for no other reason than it was her turn on watch it only took several minutes of awkward silence before he asked if he could kiss her again.

Daryl always does that—asks—at least the first time. Once they've laid into each other, he's gained enough confidence to do almost whatever he likes. Getting him to do the things he doesn't have confidence for is one of the parts of this that excites Beth most.

That's why she's here after all. Following Daryl to the showers in the dead of night so she can push him into trying something new.

New for both of them.

Beth sucks in a breath, and opens the door.

Whoever oiled this door did a fantastic job; the hinges don't even squeak, and with the distant sound of water pounding away she's certain even he wouldn't have heard her enter.

She closes the door as quietly as she opened it and begins to slip her way through the dark maze of showers. Like in the hallway, there are bulbs strung up at regular intervals, but, again like the hallway, there aren't nearly enough to keep the room well lit. Beth doesn't need light to find him though. Despite the echoing walls and the pathetic water pressure it's easy to locate the single running shower, and she isn't surprised by which one it is: the farthest stall in the deepest corner, hidden from prying eyes.

Except, she thinks, giddy again, for hers.

She pauses in the stall next to his, pressing her back to the wall to catch her breath. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, lets her chest heave in an effort to stay silent. She knows sneaking up on him is a bad idea (for his nerves and her safety), but she wants to be composed when he notices her. She wants it to be her choice.

With one final inhale, she pushes off from the wall and steps to the middle of the row.

What she sees makes her freeze.

It's him, all right, as she knew it would be, but she didn't anticipate this... _much_.

She isn't stupid. She knew he'd be naked. With the time they've spent together—a courtship equivalent to months in the old world—she's lost count of the number of times they've touched each other. But they've always been mostly clothed. Undressing completely _anywhere_ these days is a risk, especially when they're doing what they're doing and don't want to be caught. They've fucked—he was the first person she fucked in her life (although she didn't tell him that until after)—but she's never _seen_ him, and he's never seen her. Not really. Not the way she wants to, a way she never thought she would ever want, not when she grew up watching old movies where women wore nightgowns to their ankles and slept rooms away from their husbands. Sex was something dark, hidden beneath the sheets, done out of love and devotion–

The first time they fucked was on the floor of the guard tower in Maggie and Glenn's pile of blankets. Daryl was nervous and hesitant to do anything until she grabbed his hands and showed him, but they got it eventually; Beth's shorts hanging from one ankle and her panties pushed to the side and Daryl uncovering himself just enough to get inside her, fumbling for one of Maggie and Glenn's condoms with his hair hanging in his eyes like he didn't _want_ to see what was happening. But once he was inside her he looked into her eyes and she forgot how to breathe, forgot how to do anything but what her body told her to do, to trust it would steer her right.

They've never used mouths, no matter how desperately Beth's begged Daryl to let her try. She's touched him and he's touched her but there's never been enough space to explore, never enough light to see. And she _wants_ to. Wants to shine a spotlight on him and learn him piece by piece until there's nothing left, then do it again because there will always be something new about him, something she's missed. It's why she didn't think twice about sidestepping Zach to get to him. Why she imagined the shock on people's faces if they found out and didn't care. Why she stood up to Daryl's initial resistance because he _wanted_ her, dammit—he wanted her and she wanted him and she has yet to find a compelling reason why they can't have each other.

And with all the time she's spent imagining his body—constructing it from what she remembers of his torso when he was unconscious at the farm and what she's learned since then with her hands—when she sees it, she doesn't feel prepared.

The bare lightbulbs paint the scene like a chiaroscuro, lighter tones ceding abruptly to the shadows.

But she still sees him. How large he is. Even though she's seen his size and felt his strength there's something about his stance that makes him loom. His wide, wide shoulders unobstructed by cloth. His hair hanging dark down his neck, his face turned directly into the spray. His hips and thighs that make her shiver, remembering how they feel nestled between her own legs. One arm hanging lax by his side but the other bulging, rippling as it moves, short repetitive motions like he's brushing a horse or–

Beth puts a hand against the wall to steady herself as she studies what she sees: his hand, work-hewn and large enough to cover her forehead to chin or squeeze a breast entire, moving up and down his penis (his cock—men might have penises but Daryl Dixon has a cock and it's been _inside her_ ), pausing every few strokes to flick over the head, send a shiver through his spine. It's more gentle than she ever imagined a man touching himself could be; leisurely, like he's hardly aware he's doing it. Like he never made the conscious decision to touch himself in the first place. Like his thoughts brought his hand there on their own.

She wonders what his thoughts are. Is taken aback by the wave of possessiveness that sweeps over her when she realizes he isn't necessarily thinking of her. She's hardly anyone's wet dream. She knows he desires her, knows he wants her, but were he to build his ideal woman it wouldn't be her; it could never be her. But her cunt pounds along with her heart and she's _angry_ because there are so many things she would do to make him happy—not just sated, _happy—_ and the thought of him bringing an imaginary woman into the room with them–

It almost makes her walk away.

But she stays. Is too entranced not to. The pull of his skin over his muscles; the utter relaxation in his frame that she sees so rarely, even when they're alone; that hand moving so slowly, stroking his cock, maybe, _maybe_ moving to whispers of her.

She steels herself. She was brave coming down here. She is going to be brave.

She calls his name.

He doesn't answer. Squeezes his eyes tighter and opens his mouth and she sees shower water spilling over the sides of his lips. His hand is rougher too. Moving faster. His other hand balls into a fist.

Beth feels dizzy, dangerously so, and she doesn't think as she stumbles forward a step, foot slapping loudly against the floor.

“Daryl.”

Daryl draws in a sharp breath and turns—not his feet, just his upper body, and her inner muscles _clench_ at how the movement stretches the skin across his hips—and he's looking at her.

She can't move in the moment his eyes lock onto hers. Watches the tidal wave of expressions explode across his face—surprise and embarrassment and heat and shame as his eyes drop down to sweep her body before landing on the floor by her feet. He hasn't taken his hand from his cock yet but it isn't moving anymore and she thinks he must have forgotten it was there.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“What're you doing here?” he grunts.

Beth's lip twitches. She tries to keep her voice steady. “Thought that'd be obvious.”

“You...” Daryl swallows and suddenly seems to realize what he's doing with his hand; he wrenches it away, pressing his palm flat to his thigh and turning his hips away like he doesn't want her to see.

“Don't,” she says sharply, without thinking, the word cracking like a whip between them. He looks at her, eyes blank. She's blushing something fierce but in this light hopefully he can't see. “I mean... you can stop if you want. But don't do it just cause I'm here.”

Daryl snorts. “What, you wanna watch me jerk my spunk down the drain?”

“Yes,” Beth says.

She realizes a moment later that she wasn't supposed to say that. That he was trying to shock her with his lewdness, chase her away. But all he's done is get her heart pumping faster cause now that she thinks about it she _would_ like to see that—wants to see how he touches himself, how he likes it, watch the motion she's felt in her palm and inside her up close–

And he's still staring at her. Neck twisted in a way that must be uncomfortable. She wonders if he's forgotten about the scars on his back, or if his masturbation shames him more than they do. She knows he doesn't like people seeing them. Only knows about them because of the time Daddy stitched him up after he took a tumble from Nervous Nellie. He always tenses up when she touches his back, even through clothing, so she tries her very best not to; holds onto his arms or hair instead. And it doesn't bother her, him holding that part of himself back, even though he sometimes traces the line on her wrist when he thinks she's asleep. They all have pieces of themselves they don't want anyone else to see.

Except Beth can't think of any right now. Not when it comes to Daryl. Maybe the bits concerning him, the ones that she's only recently realized, which would have Daryl running for the hills if she were to say them aloud. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe these things he makes her feel—safe, warm, brave, _strong_ —maybe he'd be happy to know he can do that for someone. Maybe he wouldn't mind Beth admitting that she doesn't plan on this ending any time soon. Maybe it wouldn't scare him to look in her eyes and know she hasn't felt this before, ever, this all-consuming desire to be near him and know him and, with him, spend all the days she has left.

She thinks those thoughts should scare her, but they don't. Being 18 doesn't mean the same thing it used to. She doesn't have a future. She has _now_. And now she wants him.

Beth crosses her arms in front of herself and pulls her shirt over her head. Doesn't allow a pause before grabbing the elastic of her shorts and the underwear beneath, shoving them both down to her ankles and throwing them in the direction her shirt had gone.

She notes with a pleased little shiver that he isn't trying so hard to hide himself anymore. Has relaxed his muscles enough to let himself turn, just a little, just enough to make it less of a strain to see her, enough for his cock to bob in and out of her view. His eyes are very pointedly on her face—only her face, even as his jaw trembles and his fingers twitch. He swallows and his Adam's apple bobs and Beth takes a deep breath as his eyelids flutter but he doesn't drop his gaze.

“Beth,” he says.

She looks down at herself, sees the same thing she saw in the mirror when she was changing for bed, before she made the decision to come here. The shower isn't warm but it isn't chilly like the hallway was, but her nipples are just as pointed and hard as the cold made them. She looks past them at her flat stomach, the ribs she can count, the pubic hair in a triangle between her legs. Down to her toes, curling against the floor.

She looks back at him and his gaze hasn't moved, but he's turned towards her now. His cock that she's never fully seen before pointing at her like an accusatory finger, thick and hard and already ready for her. His balls are two heavy globes hanging beneath, seeming to tremble with the rest of him as she raises a hand to her own breast. Bites her lip and shoves away her nerves and does what she wanted to in the hallway: takes the nipple between her fingers and squeezes.

She doesn't expect the strength of the sensation that rockets through her and she gasps, knees buckling a little. Touching herself doesn't relieve the tension like she thought it would; it makes it _stronger_ , more of her breast tissue tightening towards the flushed tip, nerve endings sparking as she squeezes again, harder, hard enough that her moan echos down the shower block and she has to press her other hand to her stomach to contain the pop-rocks in her abdomen.

She wants to push her hand lower. Wants suddenly to be back in her cell. Screw Daryl. She's done this by herself before and she can do it now and just the thought of slipping face down beneath her sheets and slithering her hand between her pelvis and the mattress, her teeth closing on her pillow as she–

Her head jerks up when his hand comes into view but it doesn't stop moving; does exactly what she wants to do to herself, nudging between her lips and pressing on her swollen clit. She whimpers and he's _there_ and he's _huge_ ; even bigger than he looks with his clothes on, looming over her as she sinks into the shadows and presses her weight into his finger as it multiplies, becomes two fingers and three and then his whole hand cupping her and squeezing gently.

She looks into his eyes and he looks as shocked at himself as she herself feels, but when his touch falters she doesn't let him back away; grabs his wrist and pushes him up against her, raising her to her toes. She bites her lip, whimpers, and relaxes slowly back to the flats of her feet.

Her eyelids flutter as the motion drags her against him, his immobile fingers tugging at the hood over her clit and sparking the nerves beneath. He's so close and she can see water sparkling off his chest hair from the corner of her vision but she doesn't want to break his gaze just yet; wants him to see, _see_ what he does to her, just by being there, just by–

He moves his fingers purposefully this time, back and forth across her clit, and her free hand shoots out to grab his bicep as she struggles to breathe.

“Daryl–“

“That's good?”

Any other man and she'd think he was being dirty with those words, trying to get her hot—she's never been with a dirty-talker herself, but she'd sneaked enough peeks at Maggie's computer before the turn to know what's expected—and it does get her hot, jesus it does, but that's not why he's asking. He's asking because he doesn't know. He genuinely doesn't know and he doesn't think enough of himself to believe he can make her feel anything of the sort. The first time she realized that it broke her heart. It still does.

It also makes her brave, because she has to be. For him. To thank him for how good he makes her feel.

“So good,” she breathes. She fights past her lingering embarrassment, whispers, “Do it again.”

He does, a little more firmly this time, and she doesn't remember when her mouth got so dry. She licks her lips, feels a spike of heat in her chest when his gaze dips down to follow the motion. His eyes flicker back to hers almost guiltily but a squeeze of his wrist keeps his fingers moving. She stares at him, mouth fallen open as she begins to move her hips, pushing forward to grind against his fingers. His whole hand spasms, squeezing her lips tight, and she doesn't temper the whimper that rips from her throat.

“Are you–“

“I told you,” Beth whispers, continuing her press on his wrist, trapping his hand between hers and her pussy, “You don't have to ask. I'll tell you if I don't like something, I promise I will.” Beth takes a half-step closer and she feels in his coiled muscles the effort it takes him not to put the space back between them.

She rises onto her toes again so her lips can reach his; not a kiss, not yet, but so he can feel her mouth form the words as she speaks them. “Do what you want. What feels good. You should feel good, Daryl.”

“I like it when _you_ feel good,” he mumbles.

Beth breathes a laugh against his mouth, so far gone and he's only touching her with one hand and it's barely _moving..._ but it doesn't take much from him to get her going, not much at all. Daryl can make her feel more with a single finger than Jimmy at his best ever did, bless the boy's heart, and when it slams into her that she and Daryl are _naked_ together—not fumbling through tugged-aside clothing, Daryl's keen hearing the only warning they have against discovery—then she does kiss him. Digs her fingers into his arm and his wrist and kisses him and can't stop her giggle when he opens for her so easily, eagerly, a groan rumbling through his chest as he rocks closer, free hand finding her waist and fingers moving in an undulating wave now, following her own motions as she urges him into a rhythm with her hips and with her tongue on his.

He's keeping a careful distance between his pelvis and hers and she decides not to mind that yet, even as the awareness of what exactly he's avoiding pounds hot in the base of her spine. She moves her hand from his arm to his neck instead, gripping his hair and tugging the way she knows he likes, knows because he groans again and sinks his hand deeper between her legs, fingertips tickling her entrance and gathering her slick like he wants to raise it to his lips for a drink.

“So wet,” he mumbles against her. She shivers in response, following his hand with hers, catching the juices that slip through his fingers.

“That's you, you do that to me,” she says as she struggles to breathe and kiss him at the same time, “No one ever made me this wet before, _never_ –“

“Fuck, Beth,” he whispers, sinking a finger inside her at the same moment that his hand on her waist slides to her spine and tugs her forward, plastering her to his damp front and trapping his erection between their bare stomachs.

Beth gasps as her body floods with sensation: the strength in his arm before he checks himself, how _hot_ he is, every sensation amplified on her hyper-sensitive skin as she lets go of his wrist so she can press closer, wrap her arm around his neck and smile into his mouth. Shivers wrack her body and his groan rumbles into her ribcage when she rolls herself against his dick, learning him with the flesh of her stomach before she reaches down and takes hold of him.

He whimpers—full on _whimpers_ , and god, that isn't a noise _anyone_ would expect Daryl Dixon could make—and she uses his moment of shock to put her free hand on his chest and shove. They stumble backwards together until Daryl slams against the shower wall, water bursting down across them both. She doesn't let go of his dick the whole way but his hand does slip out from between her legs to stabilize himself against her hip, smearing her juices across her skin. He tries to pull them together again but she resists, meets his confused eyes as she swipes her thumb across the head of his dick.

His face crumples and he buries his face in the crook of her neck, panting open-mouthed kisses against her skin as she jerks him off. The shower water trickling down between them washes some of his pre-cum away but she makes do, stroking her hand up and down, feeling the lines of his veins and the ridge of the head, his foreskin moving across it, shivers running through his torso whenever she presses against his glans. She doesn't speed up no matter how ardently he begins to buck his hips, muscles humming in the effort to hold himself back, to not–

Not to what? Not to scare her? To keep his want from running away with him, to deny what she's long since accepted: that in this world of men and monsters it's a relief to be an animal with someone, to grab what she wants by the throat for no other reason than that she _wants_ it.

Wants _him_.

She squeezes, sudden and hard enough that he forgets himself; hips snapping with such force that she nearly stumbles back, catches herself with her arm around his neck and his own grasping hands holding her in place. He shrinks back against the wall but she doesn't loosen her hold, follows him until they're as close as she can get, her hand around his cock a blockade between their stomachs but their torsos cemented together, legs tangled as she turns her head to suck kisses into his neck too, climbing a straining cord of muscle and ending with gasping breaths into his ear.

“Don't do that,” she whispers, stroking again the best she can, pleased that their bodies have blocked the flow of water and she can feel his pre-cum pooling in her hand. “Don't hide from me.”

“I ain't–“

She pulls her neck back, a spark surging through her clit when he whimpers at the loss of her skin beneath his mouth, another when their eyes meet and his hot breath washes across her lips and it's only her death-grip on his hair that keeps him from surging forward to kiss her, that reminds her why she won't let him just yet.

“I know what you want,” she says, words too fast, a slur as she races to say it before her self-control abandons her. “It's just us. It's _just us_ ,” she says, pushing her nipples into his chest for emphasis, gasping when his fingers tighten and dig into her back muscles.

She struggles for a moment, caught in his gaze, with how caught he is in _her_ , how it isn't just her hand around his dick that has the power to destroy him. She has _power_ ; that's why she wants this. Wants everything he has to give her because no matter what he does to her body she could decimate him with a word.

This wasn't a happy realization when she came to it: lying alone in her cell, fingers playing idly with her clit after their second or third time together. It makes _her_ feel good, yes; going from having nothing she could control in the world to tangling with this hurricane of a man, callused and dirt-baked fingers so unsure, eyes glued to hers every time he slips inside her like he's looking for signs she's about to push him away. There were moments when she first felt his body bearing her into the floor that she felt spikes of fear—his weight, muscles thick enough that he could quite literally pull her apart—but she realized so quickly how backwards that is.

He's incapable of hurting her like that; physically, psychically, everything in his torn-up soul rebelling against the very possibility, the very thought—and that's why she wants him like that. Not to hurt her per se, not on purpose; but to believe enough in himself and in them to know that it isn't something he needs to worry about. She came to the showers tonight because she wants him to _come_ for her, in all the ways he can.

She shoves their mouths together—bites his lips, both of them, draws a strangled sound from his throat and a pulse from his cock and the faint taste of copper from his mouth—and when she pulls back and sees his usually narrow eyes wide like saucers and the pinpricks of blood building on his swollen lips, she laughs, low and throaty and delighted, and he starts to look a little scared but his cock only grows harder.

“It's just us,” she says again, stroking him with her thumb, watching his eyelids flutter. “Don't hold back. You don't have to. I don't _want_ you to.”

“Beth–“

“Take me. _Fuck_ me. I know you can, you want to. I want all of it.”

“All of–“

“All of _you_.”

Daryl shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips, smearing the beading blood across them like lipstick. Beth's hand is still working his cock, keeping it hard, keeping his head clouded, and she would be ashamed of herself for manipulating him like this if she didn't honestly believe that he wants her to do it.

“You don't know–“

“I know,” she says. Her hand pauses in its movements, drawing an involuntary twitch from his hips as they seek that friction again. The rest of him doesn't move. Save his heaving chest and his eyes darting across her face, he doesn't move.

“I know you don't trust me,” she says. He opens his mouth but she cuts him off, relaxing her hold on his hair and bringing her hand around, pushing a damp lock off his forehead. “And it's ok, Daryl, I promise it is. I know this... this _whatever_ we're doing, it isn't... isn't something you do.” The flush in Daryl's face deepens. He starts to turn away but she stops him with a hand on his cheek. She waits until his eyes have found their way back to hers, then drifts her fingertips across his cheekbone. “I know it ain't fair to ask for this, I know, but I want...”

A shudder runs through Beth's body and Daryl's hands tighten on her, like he's afraid she'll fall. And she does fall, but into him; relaxes so he's the only thing holding her up, his broad chest and thick arms and the cock in her hand, softer than before but still pulsing hot.

“What, Beth?” he asks, voice a rumble she feels in her bones.

Tears suddenly prick the back of her throat and she swallows hard, choking them down as best she can. He sees them, though. She knows he does.

“I told you,” she says, voice a tremble despite her efforts. “I can feel you being careful and I _told_ you: Trust me to say if it's too much. Don't... don't assume you're gonna break me. Not you.”

She didn't plan on saying those last two words, and it's Beth who drops her chin this time, gaze landing in the dip of his throat. She closes her eyes and presses her forehead there. A few shallows breaths and she feels his fingers on the the nape of her neck, thumb cupping the jutting bone.

“Girl...”

He stops there. She knows there's more. She knows he's thinking.

She's thinking too, of the first time he spoke to her. She doesn't recall what he said or even what they were doing but she remembers that word in his mouth, how confused it made her feel. He was calling her the word for a little kid, but the way he looked at her, the way he spoke, she knew he didn't see her that way. Didn't see her in a way that would want them naked in the showers together, not then; but even so, not a child either.

She knows what she feels now, though: soft and small and tucked away, but there's no shame there to accompany it, no wishing she could be something more. She feels soft and small and it's ok because with him she can be. He knows she's something else too.

Still touching her neck, he takes hold of her waist, spinning them around and pressing her carefully against the wall. The pitted cement feels almost alive as her back and buttocks settle against it, the room's moisture giving it the feel of skin, making it sweat.

Daryl is in the spray of the shower now. He ducks his head to keep it out of his eyes, and her own eyes flutter as his hand slips from her waist to cup her ass, his grip on her neck tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. She lets go of his dick to curl her hand around his obliques and he immediately steps forward, trapping himself again between their stomachs.

And there, again: She's so small. She feels it acutely and she knows he does too, the way he slowly leans his weight into her, how her head is craned back almost as far as it can go as he looms over her, breathing heavy on her face. When he moves his lips to her jaw she gives up the fight to keep her eyes open; sighs as his humid mouth moves across her skin, rocks between his hand on her ass and the dick against her stomach, trying to remind him how much is left to explore. He doesn't disappoint; he knows her cues, no matter how unpracticed they are at the specifics, and the hand on her ass that had been gently kneading suddenly tightens, and in her lulled state she doesn't realize her hair is free until he has both hands under her and is lifting like she weighs nothing, stepping back a moment before pushing her against the wall with his body, a little more roughly than before. The slap of cement against Beth's back makes her moan even as her limbs flail, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as her arms fly about his neck.

And when she settles she feels it. Her face is higher than his now, and where before his dick had been between their stomachs now she feels it between her legs, pressing awkwardly into the crease of her thigh. She feels his fingers tickling at her pubic hair moments before they dig into her flesh; spread her lips, slide his dick between them.

“Daryl,” she breathes.

She passes a hand across his jaw, feels his teeth clenched beneath skin and muscle as he lets out a shuddery breath, rolling his hips and making them both choke. She tightens her legs around him, wanting him inside her, wanting him inside her _now_ , but there's something deliciously sinful about riding him like a stripper pole as the shower pounds against the silence around them. She digs her fingers into the broad of his back and he rolls against her again, groaning into her neck as her cunt lips slide around him, her slick helping her glide even as she feels the friction of their ridges catch on his foreskin.

“Beth,” he grits out, grip on her ass approaching painful but god she doesn't care, not when his dick is pressed tight against her clit and every movement pushes her higher. Feeling crazed, feeling daring, she drops one hand from his back and twists it behind herself, passing beneath his arm and hand into the space between her legs, and the next time he pushes forward she catches him.

She'd been jerking him off just moments ago but somehow this feels different; cupping him in her palm, his foreskin stretched taut over the spongy head, pulled back far enough that she can feel the pulsing-hot membrane around his slit. He pulls back and pushes into her palm again and she knows she doesn't imagine the squirt of hot pre-cum that precedes him.

“Fuck,” he growls when he tries to pull back and she doesn't let go, holding onto him with the pads of her fingers and pulling his foreskin back up and over the head. She meets his eyes and he looks awestruck, tortured, even as his tone of voice ripples across her skin like tiger fur.

She changes the angle of her fingers so her trimmed nails catch against his dick. His surprised hiss lands somewhere deep in her pelvis, making her drip, pooling her own slick in her hand. His hips buck and her nails drag across the sensitive skin and he finally, finally does what she wants him to.

It's so fast she can't even draw in a full breath before he has her pinned; grabbing her wrist in an inescapable grip and bringing it above her head as the rest of him surges forward to press her against the wall, all of her, using nothing but the weight of his body to keep her suspended as he lets go of her other asscheek, reaches between them and hardly even fumbles as he guides his cock inside of her.

He must expect more resistance from her body because his first thrust is _hard_ —hard and fast and it buries him deep inside her, punching twin gasps from their throats.

Through the haze of stretch and heat she knows, she _knows_ he's gonna be spooked but she doesn't give him the chance; digs her nails into his shoulder blade and yanks at her trapped wrist so he instinctively grips it harder and by the time he gets his eyes to hers the hand on his back has moved, grasped his ass just below her crossed ankles and pulled him into her with all the strength she can muster.

“Don't stop, don't you _dare_ fucking stop–“

He stops her—slams his mouth against hers, their teeth banging painfully as she opens to him without hesitation, gasping again and then groaning as his tongue dips inside her mouth at the same moment his hips jerk forward again, strength a little more measured but still with enough force to jar her tailbone against the cement.

And he doesn't stop. His thrusts are out of rhythm and his kiss sloppy but his muscles are clenched and sure and she can _feel_ him, feel what he could do to her if he wasn't him and they were against this wall for a different reason.

But they aren’t, and he isn't, and though his grip on her wrist is firm it isn't bruising and she scrambles to hitch her legs up higher, spread herself more so she can feel his wiry pubic hair on her inner thighs and his balls are slapping almost directly between her asscheeks.

She moans loudly, the sound twisting into a desperate whine as she buries her face in his neck, pulling at her trapped wrist more insistently until he lets her go and her hand flies to his shoulder blade, another moan ripping through her as she feels the muscles working beneath his skin, his now-free hand dropping back to her ass and hoisting her up higher and hitting–

“Daryl!” she gasps, and instead of hesitating like she again fears he angles his hips and thrusts back towards that same spot, his breath harsh in her ear and bending into a growl as she squeezes her cunt around his dick, his thick dick that he insists isn't all that impressive but that she _loves_ —loves in her pussy and her hand and grinding into her stomach and she wishes she'd taken the time to taste him, finally; and maybe she will, maybe after-

Between her thoughts and his hands on her and his dick inside her she hardly knows what to do with herself; scrapes her teeth against his skin as she tosses her head back, vaguely aware of her hair slapping against the wall as he keeps driving up, up, her eyes screwed tight and teeth clamped so deeply around her bottom lip that her jaw aches. Even in his hold her hips work back and forth to meet him, straining to angle her clit against his pubic bone, a wild grin bursting onto her face as he shifts with her so she can make it, and she would kiss him if she had any control over her body at all.

Through the blood pounding in her ears and the slaps of skin and the somehow faraway sound of water thundering down she realizes Daryl is speaking; saying something, mumbled into her neck like he can't control it either, and even with the orgasm racing towards its end inside of her she needs to hear him.

“Wha-, what is it?” she manages, the rush of blood into her lip as her teeth release it almost making her keen.

“You're so good,” he mumbles. She can barely make it out, isn't even sure he's conscious of saying the words aloud. She brings her head down and he lifts his and he looks _ruined_ —face slack and tense all at once, eyes glittering and pupils wide and she'd never been able to see, it was always so dark, she could never really see his face-

He looks like the way skin scraped off by pavement feels; burning and vulnerable and _open_ , a covering ripped away and the insides beneath suddenly on fire with what it was never meant to meet, could hardly know existed—and Beth feels her entire body go slack as he sucks her muscle tension into his eyes and trembling lips.

He hasn't stopped moving and his body is still doing everything to hers that it had been moments before, but suddenly that feels secondary. He looks a million things but one of them is scared, terrified, and she feels the weight of her responsibility for that in every piece of herself.

“Daryl–“ she whispers.

“You're so good... _Beth_.” He squeezes his eyes shut, teeth bared, and drags himself back from the brink like he knows that if he doesn't say this now he'll never say it at all. “I need you,” he says in a rush. She knows he doesn't mean her body, not just. “I need you so much... I, _fuck_ , Beth, please, don't go, you can't–”

“I'm here,” she whispers, squeezing around him with all her might until a broken sound bursts from his throat. “I'm not going anywhere without you, not ever, Daryl, god, _I'm with you_.”

He breaks her gaze like he can't stand it anymore, like he'd dared himself to stare at the sun until his eyeballs seared. A hand comes off her ass and pushes at her shoulder until she isn't so wrapped around him and she cries out at the loss, trying to reel him in with her legs even as he pulls her higher again, higher until the hand on her shoulder is suddenly cupping her breast—gentle, so gentle while his cock strikes strong inside her—and even with so little to lift he manages: lifts her to his mouth and kisses her almost reverently and she watches it all, cradles his head in her hands and her arms as he seems to lose control of his mouth; isn't kissing so much as panting against her, and she can tell from the rhythm of his hips that he's close.

“Come in me,” she says, and she knows how far gone he is when he does nothing but moan. She squeezes with her pussy, rhythmic with his thrusts, voice rising as the pulsing becomes a force of its own, “Come for me, come in me, come, _come_ Daryl, come _on_ –“

“Beth–“

Whatever else he might say is lost as a cry bursts from her throat and she curls around him again. She clutches at his shoulders with a force that must be painful even for him but there's no evidence he minds, none at all, especially not when his teeth close on her hair, the closest bit of her he can reach, and he practically roars through his clenched jaw. She can hear the way it raws against his throat just as she feels his cock punching harder, their hipbones clashing as his flesh pulses in a counterpoint to hers and she can't feel his cum inside her, not with how wet she is already, but knowing it's _there_...

His hand scrambles between their stomachs to push clumsily at her clit, and even that awkward pressure is enough to make her body seize again, pussy clamping down on his still-twitching dick as she gasps nonsense words into his neck. She thinks she's saying something, she's trying to say something, but if he were to ask her what it was all she could do is kiss him.

He's kissing her. Supporting her limp neck with both of his hands so he can press their lips together, kiss with a lazy, simmering intensity. Beth falls into it, sliding down the wall a little as her trembling thighs relax around him, and soon he's slipping out of her as her feet drop to the ground, hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She pulls out of the kiss and drops her face to his chest, heart still racing. His head in turn falls against her skull, pressing to her wet hair as he exhales, sounding so overwhelmed and yet so content that she smiles into his skin.

A violent shiver rocks through Daryl's body and Beth frowns, looking up as he scrambles for the shower knob. She realizes that the water must have gone cold long ago.

They'd been doing enough to keep each other warm, but now that the heat in her blood is cooling she feels the chill of the room, too. Daryl must be freezing.

Whatever he feels, though, he's warm to her, and as soon as he manages to get the water off she's stepping forward into his arms again, curling herself against his broad chest. He rubs his hands up and down her back like he knows exactly what she's doing. Knowing him, he probably does.

It takes several minutes for them to untangle from each other. Beth wraps her arms around her middle as soon as she does, smiling at him through her chattering teeth.

“I feel sorry for whoever's waiting till morning to shower.”

Daryl snorts. “I don't.” Beth giggles and drops back against the wall as she watches him walk away, grabbing his clothes and a ratty towel from the bench then bending to reach her pajamas—turned towards Beth as he does so, unfortunately, but she still enjoys the twisting muscles in his arms, the flashes of his strong thighs and swinging cock through the cloth he carries. When he straightens it takes her a few moments to remember she's supposed to be looking at his face. Her eyes flick upwards and find a tiny smirk on his mouth; a little shy, maybe, but he doesn't try to hide himself as he walks forward, handing her her clothes and then swinging his own over his shoulder and bringing the towel to her hair.

She closes her eyes and smiles as he dries it as best he can, taking it from dripping to damp before he runs the towel down the rest of her body. His movements are practical and he doesn’t pause to cop a feel, but she still shivers when the harsh terrycloth rasps over her nipples. His ears go red but he pretends not to notice, dropping into a crouch to reach her legs and suddenly pausing, the towel pressed against her knee.

Beth frowns and looks down. “What–“

She knows _what_ as soon as she sees what he's seeing: white liquid mingling with the water trailing down her inner thighs. She can't even feel the difference but looking the evidence of him shooting inside her, his face level with her pussy and eyes wide, unblinking as he licks his lips...

Beth's whole body feels flushed when she reaches down and pulls him up, picking her panties out of the clothing in her arms and using them to quickly wipe herself down. She looks up and sees Daryl watching her, flicking between her face and her legs, and her cheeks burn hot.

“You still need the towel and, y'know, I don't need to wear these just to walk back to bed...”

His eyes settle on hers with such intensity that she feels the flush spread through her whole body. She wants to know what he's thinking, but something tells her it isn't any one thing. Despite the tiredness she feels building between her ears, part of her hopes he finds the sight of his semen trickling out of her pussy as erotic as she does; that maybe he'll fall to his knees again and lick the rest of it out of her...

His eyes drop away and he reaches forward to pluck her soiled panties from her hand, holding them for a few moments before pulling his jeans from his shoulder and pushing them into the back pocket.

Before Beth can react he's using the towel to give himself a cursory drying, ruffling it through his hair and across his chest, then beginning to dress. Beth almost protests—she wanted to give him the same attention he gave her—but she holds her tongue, mind still wrapped around the scrap of cotton in his pocket, wondering what he'll do with it. Whether he took it from her so she wouldn't have to carry the dirty cloth herself, or if... if he has plans.

Beth turns slightly away from him and dresses herself quickly. Without panties or a bra it takes mere moments, and she only has to wait a few more before Daryl is ready to go too.

“There's some, uh...” Daryl trails off and Beth turns back to him. The tips of his ears are red again and she only just stops herself from reaching up and rubbing them, seeing if they feel as hot as they look.

“Yeah?”

“There's some Plan B stuff with the rest of the meds,” he says, all in a rush. “Might be expired, I dunno, but I'll get you some. Can always say it's for Glenn and Maggie, y'know...”

And Beth feels like a fool, because she hadn't even considered pregnancy as a potential problem. Was so wrapped up in Daryl, muscles still trembling uncontrollably with what he made her feel and the absurd flush of arousal she feels knowing his cum is inside her.

She can't get pregnant. There are the physical risks, yes, but... she can't do that to Daryl. Keeping their relationship private was a mutual decision, but she at least did it more for Daryl than for herself. She can handle everyone looking at her like she's gone out of her head—she's done it before, after all—but Daryl's so shy. Even with her he's shy, and she knows their family might have a moment or two of shock before getting over it, but the Woodbury people, people who know Daryl only as the rough-looking man who brings them food... he'd never admit it, but he thrives on their respect even as he doesn't know what to do with it. And she knows without a doubt that there would be voices, loud voices, asking what he's doing giving it to a teenager; near-strangers wondering if he's a different man than they thought he was.

But he isn't. She knows that and everyone who really matters knows that and for the time being the two of them will continue to keep it quiet. It will be easier now that she knows they have ways of coming together where they don't have to rush. It might not be in a bed and she won't be waking up in his arms anytime soon but...

There could be a day. A day when they can sleep with their legs tangled together, his cum and her slick drying through the night on both of them. Waking up one morning and puking in the corner and he would hold her hair back and press a hand to her stomach for support and she'd twine her fingers with his, help him keep her together and wonder, wonder...

She realizes that he's still looking at her, frown growing the longer as she remains silent. She forces a smile, pushing her fantasies to the back of her mind. They came a long way tonight. She's proud of him. But she can't help wondering if now that they've really started she'll ever be able to stop.

“Thank you,” she says. “For the Plan B. Getting it. I'd appreciate that.”

He nods his head jerkily, then after a moment of hesitation reaches out and takes her hand. He doesn't just wrap around her; he presses their palms flat and twines their fingers together, the strength of his grip telling her he isn't looking to let go anytime soon.

Even if they never become anything more than this... it's more than she imagined herself ever having. Even when her world held the possibility of princes and rosebuds, this is more.

“C'mon,” he says.

A smile tugs at his lips. Tiny, as always, but every millimeter of it for her. Every little bit.

That's one thing she'll never stop being sure of.

 

**Author's Note:**

> To keep you up to date on the show, as of season 7 they're still at the prison and Maggie and Glenn are about to have their baby when they find out that Beth and Daryl are expecting too and the group throws a huge party for both couples and no one dies and everyone is happy. That's canon right there.


End file.
